USUK 10 different song fics
by Remyx
Summary: So this is for a meme. "Write 10 different fics according to the next 10 consecutive songs that play on your ipod. No rewinding, pausing, or fast forwarding." So 10 fics, rated for Yaoi, language, and situations. Enjoy.


Sooo 10 different stories on USUK. Some contain Yaoi and much language. _

Anyways, I listed the rules of the meme in the summary but I cheated U_U I paused several times, only because I got so caught up in it all. Sorry! Still hope you like it!

* * *

I Never Told You – Colbie Calait

_I miss those blue eyes  
How you kiss me at night  
I miss the way we sleep_

He **despised **it, felt the utmost **hatred** for it, yet he could not direct his vision **away** from it. The vast blue heavens above his head seem to glare back at him just as much as he was glaring at it. His country was not famous for the glorious sunshine seeming to pour out today, yet hear it was shining its brilliance his way. Normally Arthur Kirkland would have been grateful for the rain to have passed for once; it was rare when he could go out for a walk to his favorite tea shop, tend to his garden without expecting to get drenched by the onslaught of a thunderstorm, or simply just enjoy the warmth of sunshine. However his heart did not feel whole that day, nor the day before that, or the one before that and so on. It had been a full week since Alfred had been on his way to Vietnam to proceed performing his never ending acts of heroism.

At any rate, the skies were much too blue, identical to the lucent azure orbs belonging to the American whom was plaguing Arthur's thoughts. The luminescence in his own viridian eyes were nothing compared to the ones he longed to stare into now.

Indeed the Briton did miss those gorgeous eyes, but there were other things that almost had his heart shattering when he reminisced on them. Such things consisted of those oh so _talented_ lips. Best, when they were brushing against the soft skin of his jaw line, parting lightly to moan out his name, or sucking with delicious suction on his—_ahem._

Despite the images that ran through his mind when he thought of all those things, the best were the moments right before he fell asleep. Arms coiled around his dainty (and so not feminine) frame, he recalled the faint whisper of **those **words, that would have no power over him had the not been uttered from **his**lips right before a tender kiss to his temple. That was the part that could render him breathless with pure joy, or bitter sorrow, the sorrow only present from his own doing.

_Like there's no sunrise  
Like the taste of your smile  
I miss the way we breathe_

America had always said it, when he knew that England would not reply with back. Said Englishman cursed at himself and blessed his lover for being so patient with the circumstances. It wasn't that Arthur didn't love Alfred, and it was most certainly not that England did not love America. It was the fact that Arthur did not want to reconcile with his previous nightmares and heartache. Alfred had left him once, and before that, he had not known what love was. He still wasn't positive that he knew what it was now. He could understand loving possessions and power, but a person and country was something he had yet to experience. Even the Francis who claimed to be the nation of love, had contributed to his misunderstanding of the term's true definition. Needless to say, being invaded countless times, by countless nations hurt more than physically.

The time that the Brit had spent with the younger nation was different than the times he had been forced on his hands and knees, or bent over some protruding object until his dignity had been stolen from him. No, their time was completely endless; the way England found himself completely content with just laying in bed for hours upon hours running tender fingers through silken strands of blond, while pale lids were tightly closed over the eyes he loved so much. He **enjoyed** just sitting next to the other man, mindlessly humming away some tune that Alfred liked to call "My Country 'tis of The" when Arthur argued that the title was "God Save the Queen." Really they didn't have to be doing anything more than staring at a brick wall for the English nation to be happy.

Not to say Arthur didn't mind doing certain things with the American. His thoughts drifted back to his previous recollections of times when he would be kissing Alfred with reckless abandon, his own tongue dancing and playfully pushing back on the other man's. He frowned when he once again floated back to the words Alfred would say in between ragged breathing, pants, and wanton groans of pleasure that Arthur himself found he was too frightened to repeat.

The frazzled nation ran shaky fingers through shaggy short ends of his own golden locks before taking a deep breath in. _Hell_ had he missed the way Alfred breathed.

_But I never told you  
What I should have said  
No, I never told you  
I just held it in_

Of course he was worried, **of course** he would have rather walked up to Francis in a tutu than to have Alfred so vulnerable on the field of battle. He knew how capable his former colony was now, and how silly it was for him to even be stressing over the matter. His mind just couldn't drop what was really eating at him. **Why** hadn't **he** said it back? They were only **three** small words. They had been sitting on the tip of his tongue, ready to be run through his vocal chords from the minute he had met Alfred, yet he hadn't told the American what he really should have been screaming this entire time.

_And now,  
I miss everything about you  
Can't believe that I still want you  
And after all the things we've been through  
I miss everything about you  
Without you_

Even after the revolution, _hell,_ even **during** the revolution he had wanted to scream those words from the top of his lungs. He told himself, repeated it over and over that he in fact did not care for Alfred in the slightest. That he did what every other European nation was built to do; that he had carried on the tradition of taking what he needed and getting rid of the other. He **scolded** himself for even having desired the git still, but he had fallen too deep. Now it was his own fault when he collapsed to his knees and let the broken **sobs tear** from his throat. Who was he without his hero?

_Everytime I close mine  
You make it hard to see  
Where I belong to  
When I'm not around you  
It's like I'm alone with me_

The worst of it all was Alfred's presence haunting him when Arthur knew the other man was not there. He could feel the arms wrapping around his midsection shushing, and whispering consoling sweet nothings in his ear. The premonition of Alfred there was hurting however, more than it was soothing his tattered soul. He knew he was alone, and he found that word harder to swallow than the three little ones he swore he would tell Alfred over and over again when he returned. Arthur began to wonder when he had become so sick.

_But I never told you  
What I should have said  
No, I never told you  
I just held it in_

And now,  
I miss everything about you  
Can't believe that I still want you  
And after all the things we've been through  
I miss everything about you  
Without you

But I never told you  
What I should have said  
No, I never told you  
I just held it in

And now,  
I miss everything about you  
Can't believe that I still want you  
And after all the things we've been through  
I miss everything about you  
Without you

A calloused hand brushed just under his eye, wiping away an excess tear that had escaped when Arthur had been furiously wiping at his eyes, mumbling to himself that he needed to get a grip. He was not some lovesick school girl who needed coddling because of a lost lover, and Alfred not to mention was certainly not lost.

He paused relishing in the feeling of the oh so realistic details of the hands arms and lips comforting him. When the ghost settled in front of him and finally landed those sweet lips on his own, he opened his eyes. He saw blue.

Their lips parted. "Sorry I'm late Iggy."

That's when the English nation completely lost it, and the one previously thought to be a simple dream rendered up by forlorn feelings was tackled to the floor. "I love you, I love you, I love you."


End file.
